


Yo, Here's a story

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just the Intro of the main Event. This will be a FrostIron story that will definitely be Mature. Also M/F and M/M and branches across both the comics and movies in context (but primarily focusing on a cinematic bent). Also, yes, there's going to be violence and some characters will die. It's going to be a wild ride I'm sure. Have fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. why am i even doing this?

I don't do introductions. I don't need to. You know who I am. My name has been plastered on every magazine from Playboy to Forbes to the National Enquirer and you know what? Yea. It's fun. It's great seeing your name on all the channels, magazines, newspapers, hearing about yourself on the radio, and what's even better? Never having a moment of privacy. Seriously, you should try it some time. Imagine needing to take a dump and being convinced that some creepazoid kid'll try and sneak a photo of you while you're in the public stall.  
So yea, I don't do introductions.  
Because you know who I am.  
Even down to my birthday suit.  
So why bother with the intros?  
Let's get to the story boys and girls.  
I promise it's a fun one. I'm the star, so it has to be, right?


	2. so tell me what you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after Thor 2 in the MCU timeline.

He sighed and tossed the StarkPad on the table and stood up. He walked over to the window, looking out across the darkened skyline; the stars in the night sky bleed into the city's lights. New York City—still broken, still recovering, but it was the Big Apple all the same. He stretched, arching his back, and sighed, swinging his arms to loosen the muscles. He fiddled with the metal band around his wrist, an identical one on the other. He was a new kind of man: still Tony Stark, still Iron Man, but he lived here now. He ran the Avengers. He didn't have the fancy house and cars. (OK, that was a lie. He had a fancy skyscraper and the Iron Man suits, but he lost his Malibu home and the reigning champion of car collecting fell back to a certain white-haired talk-show host comedian in his 60s. But who cares when you're Iron Man?) He was a suit-man now. Silks or iron, it didn't matter. He flicked his wrist and began to undo his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons to his dress shirt.

Today was a big day, just as any other day. Pepper came to him with a new StarkPhone prototype and he had snapped at her, but as always, he saw the sense of what she had to say. You can't run a company on nothing, after all, and as she so blithely pointed out: he had his head up in the clouds (and some place a little lower on the human anatomy) all the time, defeating evil. Someone had to think of the company.

The sound of wood rattled, dragging him from his recollections of the day. 

He blinked, realizing that he was alone in the room, and turned to face it—in this day and age of weird crap, it could be anything.

The two of them stared at each other. The intruder tall, pale, and a mouth like a wicked slash, belying just how dangerous he was. The mechanic panicked, quelled it, and made an undignified noise. He really didn't like surprises—something about already having a bad heart.

The intruder stood by the bar and twirled one of the stools. It clattered noisily against the recently repaired stone floor. He raised a brow at the mechanic. Everything about him read: boredom.

The mechanic looked out the window at the skyline, his mind racing, building plans A through Zed, assessing all options and all reasons. He flicked his wrist, his cuff falling over the metal around his wrist.

The intruder continued to twirl the stool and the mechanic rubbed his eyes and walked toward the monster in leather and metal waiting by the bar.

“So... You're real,” he said.   
The slash on the intruder's face twitched in amusement as he said, “I dare say you look like you've seen a ghost.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Well, yea, I have...” He said, stepping closer, warily.

“Have you?” he purred, the wood clattering still. “And where would that be?” He looked from the stool to the suit-man in front of him.

His eye twitched at the irritating noise and said, “Yea... You. Here. You died in uh... That thing with the Elves. Thor said.” His mind continued to race through all files possible on the intruder, all ways to survive this encounter. He was irritated. He knew one thing, and that was: He was at a severe disadvantage and therefore royally fucked.

“Do I look deceased to you, Anthony Stark?”

He narrowed is eyes, wondering if tomorrow he will be. “Sadly? No.” He paused. “JARVIS? Am I alone?” He needed to make sure... After everything he's been through, just in case...

The intruder rolled his eyes and left the stool alone, which made Stark glad. “Of course you are not alone, idiot. And I am not a ghost. Ghosts cannot come to collect what they owe.”

The mechanic furrowed his brow, “What?” His mind raced. “Hey, now if anyone owes anyone here, it's you. You're the one who broke my floor.” Among other things, he thought.

The intruder arched a brow and tilted his head at the mechanic. It made Stark sick to see just how haughty and full of himself this man was; it made me him want to break it, break all those walls and make him act human... And yet he remembered how last time he did that, he was thrown out the window. The man did not like looking foolish... And he didn't, as he quietly walked along the bar, touching the cold granite surface--every action of his held such unnerving, unnatural grace and power. He said, “You offered me a drink, last time I was here. I've come to claim it.” He glanced around at the penthouse disdainfully. “And as far as I am concerned, I don't owe you anything. I was used to break your floor; I wasn't the one who broke it. Clearly it was of shoddy craftmanship.”  
Stark fiddled with his hands—he was nervous, adrenaline was pumping through his system, and he was still half terrified that this was all just a horrifying hallucination, so he said, “Actually... You're just really heavy...”  
He stared at Loki for a second, knowing his joke was weak, awkward, and too human and that it just showed the difference and that power in the other man to be so composed, always on-point, and that meant he was completely alien. He broke the stare and quickly walked behind the bar to pull out two glasses.


End file.
